


Just Another Graceless Night

by selflessbellamy



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, One Night Stand (that turns into something more because it's Bellarke — duh), Secret Relationship, Strangers to Lovers, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:24:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/selflessbellamy/pseuds/selflessbellamy
Summary: Clarke Griffin is the newest member of the Alternative Rock band,The Delinquents, but in the band they have one (1) rule:"Everyone hates Bellamy Blake."Of course, Clarke didn't know this when she slept with him... That complicates things a bit.





	Just Another Graceless Night

**Author's Note:**

> Once again, thanks to Amber (bilexualclarke on Tumblr) for being a great beta! :)

_Prologue — June 2017_

 

When Clarke Griffin dropped out of medical school in the most cliché way possible — to pursue her actual dreams — she understood that it wouldn’t be easy to make it as a part time musician/part time graffiti artist in Brooklyn, but she didn’t care. Of course, that attitude only lasted until she found herself struggling to pay the bills at the end of every month. In June, she discovered a leak in the pipes of her bathroom and was forced to survive on instant noodles and black coffee for weeks because she couldn’t fix the damage herself.

It’s a little ironic the night she realized how much of a failure she’d made of her life would be the one where everything started to change for the better. That’s because she decided to write a song about her situation in twenty minutes, scribbling words down with black eyeliner on the back of an old receipt. Unsurprisingly, the theme of the lyrics revealed her attitude towards the state: _New York, suck my entire ass._

With the receipt in the back pocket of her jeans, Clarke threw her trusted acoustic guitar over her shoulder and headed to a bar, hoping that playing the song, life would help her deal with the frustration that made her want to give up. In the end, it gave her something much better: A _job._

An attractive young woman wearing a red leather jacket bought her a glass of whiskey after the performance and introduced herself as Raven Reyes. “I’m the lead guitarist of _The Delinquents._ Right now, we happen to be in need of a vocalist and songwriter, since our last one… dropped out.”

Once she’d said the last part, Clarke noticed bitterness flash across Raven’s facial features. Even though it sparked her curiosity, she chose not to ask about it, afraid that it might offend her.

After a short minute of silence, Raven finally asked, “Would you be interested?” 

“What’s your musical style?”

“Alternative rock, mostly.”

_Fucking perfect._

She left the bar with the date for her audition in her hand and a spark of hope brightening the darkness in her chest.

 

* * *

 

 

_July 2017_

Getting the job proved to be easier than expected, since there weren’t any other musicians at the audition, just the other band members: Monty and Jasper, best friends and quite possibly the youngest sound technicians in the business. Harper, the drummer, who — in spite of her kind appearance and personality — can make the walls and floor of the building shake during her solos. Lastly, there’s Monroe, the other guitarist of the band. She doesn’t say much, but her musical skills and ability to settle disagreements in the group are out of this world. 

Of course, there’s a lot of practical work that needs to be done before she’s accepted as an official member of the band: They have to update their social media accounts, sign a bunch of paperwork, and look through the songs she has managed to write over the years. To her delight, everyone seems to like them.

During her first week as a real member, Clarke learns _a lot_ about everyone — some of the things are actually borderline TMI, like the fact that Raven frequently uses a picture of Jasper in his mother’s lingerie to blackmail him into doing her laundry. She also memorizes their Starbucks orders because they take turns at doing _coffee runs._

 

When the initiation process seems to finally be over, Clarke takes it as a cause for celebration, but she also desperately needs to be alone. Therefore, she goes to a bar by herself, expecting to have a few drinks and dance without a partner like the independent woman she is…

Then _he_ takes the seat next to her.

Clarke doesn’t usually lose her mind when a man sits down beside her, but this stranger might just be the _most attractive_ man she has ever seen: The dark, unruly curls of his hair are an inch short of falling into his brown eyes; his brown skin glows in light as dim as that in this room, and his jawline looks sharp enough to cut glass.

Worrying her lower lip, she battles the desire to admire him. After all, she’s an artist, which makes it almost impossible for her not to look at masterpieces, especially when they’re this close.

Just when she can feel guilt creep into her bones, the stranger’s eyes catch hers and don’t let them go. At first, the connection is nearly too intense, but then he smiles, and she senses the tension crumble.

“You definitely make a worthy opponent in a staring contest, but what’s your name?”

At that, a grin stretches across her face. “Clarke Griffin. I just moved here a six months ago.” 

He nods, presenting himself as _Bellamy Blake,_ causing Clarke to wonder how it’s possible for a _name_ to be that sexy. “How do you like the state?”

Just as she thinks she has found a way to narrow down the whole shit show she has experienced since she arrived, Bellamy reads her mind. “It’s crappier than it seems, right? I mean, if the two of us being here alone on a Friday night is any indication.”

They drink to that, and when he tells her that he’s a solo artist, Clarke nearly falls off her chair. For some reason, he doesn’t ask her if she has a job, probably because he’s not sure that she has any. As it turns out, Bellamy’s job isn’t the most interesting thing about him: He excelled at chess and history in high school, played basketball for two years in college, where he switched majors twice. 

“I dropped out and moved here without job security,” Clarke admits, frowning before taking another sip of her drink. 

Before she can tell him more, though, he’s asks her to dance with him.

“To the mainstream crap they play in here? No thanks.”

At that, he smirks, taking out his phone. “Do you think I go to a bar without bringing any backup? There’s no way I’m spending a night dancing to Justin Bieber and Katy Perry. I mean, _come on_.” 

On the dance floor, they share his headphones and she lets him choose the first song, internally begging that his taste in music isn’t awful. She barely has time to prepare herself before the sound _Bad Habit_ by The Kooks sends waves of surprise through her chest. 

It’s a pleasant kind of surprise, though. Leaning forward, Bellamy asks, his voice marked by amusement, “Does this make you want to dance with me?”

Feeling exceptionally confident, she steps forward, narrowing the distance between them further. “ _With_ you? Oh no, Bellamy. I’ll dance _for_ you.” 

The only part of her that’s still in denial about her attraction to him thinks that those words might have crossed the line. But it’s a sexy song, so he brought this on himself, and he doesn’t seem to be the least sorry about it. In fact, his gaze darkens a little as he places his hands on her hips, pulling her against him. It’s the first time they’ve touched, and it makes her feel _electric_.

 

_You gotta let go, come with me_

_Looking for a stranger_

_Looking for a stranger to love_

 

Clarke loves that the beat of this song makes it impossible for her not to show off her curves. She sways her hips, triumphing when Bellamy lets his hands travel from her ass to her shoulder blades, exploring her figure. 

As the song ends, there’s no space between them, bodies pressed against each other like magnets, gazes locked and breaths mingling. Then _Perfect Places_ breaks the spell momentarily, bringing another rhythm for their hearts to follow, but Bellamy twirls her around slowly, and her hands bury themselves in his chaotic hair.

 

_Let’s go to perfect places..._

He kisses her, and they forget everything about the music, about dancing and the sweat that makes their clothes stick to their skin. At first, he’s unexpectedly careful, testing the waters before slowly coaxing her lips apart with the tip of his tongue. Leaning into it, Clarke can’t resist a moan, as she only now feels just how strong he is: it’s not the aggressive kind of strength, but the one that makes you feel secure... 

When he pulls back and puts his phone back in his pocket, Clarke thinks their moment has ended. Just as disappointment has begun to seep into her body, Bellamy takes her hand and leads her outside without saying a word. 

“No distractions here, right?” 

With that, Bellamy backs her against the brick wall, looking into her eyes for a moment before they kiss again. Feeling curious, Clarke pulls a little at his hair, making him groan into her mouth, sending vibrations through her body.

The late night air that surrounds them is chilly in comparison to the heat between them, but it feels good on her skin — Almost as good as his lips, which kiss fire down her sensitive throat. Meanwhile, his thumb caresses her cheekbone. 

“ _Fuck…_ ” It was either that or a moan, and because she’s feeling slightly competitive, she’s not willing to give him the satisfaction of hearing that just yet.

“I agree,” he drawls against her neck before pulling back to search her eyes. “Are you drunk?” 

 _Shit,_ she knows where this is going now, yet shockingly has no intention of stopping it. Still, she’s a little baffled that he wants her, too — and is being less than blunt about it. 

“No, not at all. Are you?” 

Grinning, Bellamy shakes his head. After another hot kiss, Clarke follows him into a cab, trying not to think about how this will be her _first_ one night stand…

  

Honestly, Clarke doesn’t make much of Bellamy’s apartment — just that it’s a great place for making out. As soon as her t-shirt has come off, though, their pace slows, allowing for deeper kisses that steal her breath. She tries to catch it once his lips leave hers, but quickly realizes that it’s useless, because he simply devotes his attention to her breasts instead.

For a minute, she lets her eyelids flutter shut in pleasure, but when his teeth graze her nipple through the lace of her bra, her competitiveness is sparked again, and she has to pull his shirt off in retaliation.

He laughs at how she curses at the sight of his abs. This time, she pulls him in for a messy kiss, exploring the toned muscles of his back, and he murmurs something incoherent into her mouth in response. The rest of their clothes come off in a blur. When she’s on his bed, though, it’s as if time stands still for a second. 

“You haven’t done this before,” Bellamy murmurs against her inner thigh.

“How did you know?” 

“You’re a little tense.”

 _Oh._ Frankly, she’s about to become embarrassed, but uses her sassiness to cover it up. “Why don’t you make me relax then?”

Cocking his eyebrows, Bellamy clearly accepts the challenge, and _holy shit._ Until now, she’d thought she was as calm as possible given the circumstances, but while Bellamy alternates between eating her out and leaving hickeys on her skin, she’s proven wrong. It takes all of the strain out of her body. 

Flicking the tip of his tongue against her clit, Bellamy pulls a low whine from where it’d been stuck in Clarke’s throat, and the sound clearly has an effect on him, since he continues eagerly until she’s clutching at his bed sheets.

“Bellamy, _please_ …”

At the plead, his fingers finally push her off the edge, leaving her breathless. Naturally, her eyelids are fluttered closed, but they reopen a little at the feeling of his warm hand against her cheek: she’s met by the sight of him smiling softly above her, his dark brown eyes affectionate, and somehow they already seem familiar… Suddenly, he doesn’t feel like a stranger she met at the bar. 

Perhaps that’s why saying, “I want you inside me,” doesn’t seem awkward or out of place. When he obeys, pushing into her, her breath hitches in her throat and is only released again because he kisses her. 

Given that Clarke hasn’t had a lot of meaningful sex with men, meeting Bellamy’s deep thrusts feels very passionate, which is not something she would associate with one night stands, but maybe it isn’t something worth worrying about. 

“ _Bellamy..._ ” 

“I love it when you say my name, babe,” murmuring those words against her lips, Bellamy lets his fingers interlace with hers.

No, he _really_ doesn’t feel like a stranger anymore.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t put on her clothes once it’s over, staying in favor of a casual pillow talk, which ends when they both fall asleep.

  

* * *

 

Waking up the next morning, Clarke has a very brief experience of amnesia: she doesn’t remember where she is or how she got there until she turns and notices Bellamy next to her, sprawled naked on top of the sheets. Another moment passes before she realizes that he’s awake, gazing at her softly. 

“Morning,” after saying that, she’s hit by the desire to kiss him and doesn’t even _try_ to battle it.

“Morning, Princess,” he drawls, brushing a calloused fingertip along her exposed collarbone. If the kiss surprised him, he’s certainly good at hiding it. “Are you a breakfast or coffee person?” 

When she tells him that she’s both, the smile on his lips widens. Even though it’s always tempting to stay in bed on a Saturday morning, what he’s offering sounds better. Returning his grin, Clarke catches the shirt that he throws at her and puts it on. Immediately, the scent of him greets her nostrils, and she surprisingly hasn’t paid much attention to it before now: _Coffee, spice, sunshine and… Cigarettes?_

“You smoke?” The question emerges from her lips without permission, and to her relief it doesn’t sound judgmental. Bellamy chuckles, handing her a cup of black goodness as she hops onto the kitchen counter.

“No. My best friend Nate does, though.”

“Your best friend borrows your shirts?”

Bellamy shrugs at that. “We used to hook up. I guess it became a habit.” 

Although he nearly succeeds at sounding entirely nonchalant, Clarke catches the edge of nervousness in his voice. _She knows that feeling all too well._ Therefore, she simply smiles at him. 

Once she notices the relief settle in his facial features, Clarke changes the subject. “Did you count how many hickeys you gave me yesterday? Because I have work on Monday and want to know how screwed I am.”

Bellamy laughs warmly, and she wonders how it’s possible that the sound resembles the sunrays that are pouring through the glass windows of his kitchen. “I can only see one from here, but I assure you that there are at least five more in less visible places.”

“Asshole,” she deadpans, but he simply beams at her, handing her a plate of scrambled eggs. 

“At least I’m a considerate kind of asshole. I neatly placed them on your inner thighs and breasts instead of your throat, because doing _that_ would have been a dick move.” 

Stepping towards her, Bellamy adds, “The only visible one is _here._ ” With that, he runs his fingertip along her collarbone again, making her realize why he did it the first time while. Then — probably without thinking — he leans down, pressing his lips to the mark briefly.

When he meets her eyes, a faint blush is coloring his freckled cheeks. “If you feel embarrassed about last night being your first one night stand, I want you to know that people have always told me that I suck at them.” 

“… Because you’re too affectionate?” 

He nods, placing his empty coffee cup on the counter.

For a short minute, Clarke debates with herself whether it’s a good idea to tell him what she wants to, but ultimately decides that she doesn’t care. She probably won’t see him again anyway… “Well, _I_ don’t think you suck at them.”

“Thanks…” Now, he’s blushing more, running a hand through his hair. It makes him even more attractive, if that’s even possible. “You don’t suck either, by the way.”

Together, they finish their breakfast, and even though they have the courage to exchange phone numbers before she leaves, Clarke doubts that they’ll have enough of it to see each other again.

 

* * *

 

On Monday, when she returns to work, she learns the perhaps most important thing of all: there’s _one_ person in the universe everyone in _The Delinquents_ is supposed to hate, and Clarke obviously doesn’t think it’s going to be hard, since it’s most likely Trump or someone equally terrible, but _no._

“I’ve been stalking Bellamy Blake’s tweets for the last two months. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to release a new album any time soon.” 

At the sound of his name — even though it’s coming from Jasper’s mouth — nearly has Clarke choking on her coffee. _What the fuck?_ There can’t possibly be another person with the same name as him in New York, right? After all, it’s pretty unique, but she’s still internally praying that it isn’t him. 

“I’m sure he will. It’ll be an EP of ninety percent stolen songs,” Raven remarks, clenching her jaw. 

“Stolen?” Clarke manages, sensing every pair of eyes in the room settle on her. After sighing, Harper takes the time to explain: Apparently, the member that opted out of the band wrote a bunch of songs for _The Delinquents_ on the request of Raven, which they were going to put on their new album. However, this person, named Finn Collins, decided to leave the band and sell the songs to Bellamy, who obviously _has_ to have taken them. 

It’s so difficult for her to picture this as something that Bellamy would do. Bellamy, who danced with her in the bar, called her ‘babe’ and made her breakfast in the morning. Despite the fact that she knows it’s potentially dangerous to question the band’s judgment, Clarke can’t prevent herself from it. 

“If Finn did in fact try to sell the songs to Bellamy, there’s no way for you to know if he even liked them enough to buy them.”

At that, Raven huffs. “Finn is a shitty person, okay? But he’s a great songwriter. I’m sure someone as unknown as Bellamy would kill to have those songs under his name.”

Clarke does her best to pretend that the insult doesn’t make her feel angry. Then again, she never heard any of Bellamy’s songs and doesn’t know if they’re good, but she simply can’t imagine him _stealing_ songs that were written for another artist.

As if the situation isn’t tense enough already, the sound of a text startles everyone in the room. Quickly, Clarke takes her phone from her pocket to turn the sound off, but notices that it’s from _Bellamy_ — and suddenly can’t take her eyes off the screen.

 

_You probably think I’m the most awkward person_

_in the world for texting you like this._

_But I just wanted to know how you’re doing…_

Her heart swells as her thumbs itch to reply, but Monty speaks up, preventing her from it. “I think Clarke has an _admirer_.” 

Luckily, Monroe’s quick to defend her. “Shut up, Monty. It’s none of your business.” That woman has the most intimidating death glare that Clarke has ever seen, and though it’s intimidating, she respects it. 

Most people would probably leave it there, but Clarke decides that telling the truth — without mentioning his name — will make her seem less suspicious and also make sure that it’s not brought up again. 

“No, it’s fine. It was from this guy I hooked up with last Friday, because that’s apparently something I do now.” 

Sipping on her coffee, Raven grins, raising her perfect eyebrows. “Good sex? Bad sex?” 

“ _Great_ sex… Anyway, I wrote a song that I want everyone to listen to.”

What she fails to mention, however, is that she wrote the song after she came home from Bellamy’s apartment, which is why the tune’s slightly different. Although she hates to admit it, he might’ve distracted her a bit too much — Not just because she had great sex with him. He was also incredibly caring and interesting… But she’s apparently supposed to hate him?

She already knows it’s not going to happen.

 

“ _How can bodies our bodies become one_

_Without reshaping our hearts?_

_Forget the natural pledge_

_Because I know I’ll see you again._

_I’ll see you again.”_

* * *

 

In spite of this, Clarke does her best to ignore him during the next couple of weeks. Still, she can’t when _Perfect Places_ starts playing every time she turns on the damn radio, forcing her to think of how fun it was to dance with it.

The world makes it pretty clear that ignoring Bellamy is literally impossible, so when the second text from him appears on screen at the end of the week, she decides to go to his apartment to ask him about the songs. 

If her prediction is true and he didn’t steal them, then she doesn’t have to hate him, and her heart will become a lot less calm. Right now, it’s threatening to burst straight out of her ribcage at the mere sight of his name flashing across her screen. 

 

When she arrives at his apartment an hour later, Bellamy’s just come out of the shower, judging by his curly hair, which is still damp. Suddenly, she has to battle the urge to run her fingertips through it… In other words: _she’s screwed._  

“Clarke?” 

He sounds very surprised, but lets her step inside nonetheless. For what feels like minutes, they simply stand in the hallway in silence, looking at each other, and Clarke seems to have forgotten how to form words. 

Therefore, he’s the one who speaks first. “Listen, I’m really sorry if I’ve bothered you. I know that what we did probably isn’t going to happen again, but I just want to know this one thing and when you’ve told me, I promise I’ll leave you alone... Are you okay?”

He has undoubtedly taken her lack of response to the texts as a form of rejection, and she feels horrible about it, wants to tell him the truth as soon as possible — If only she knew where to start….

In the end, she chooses to say, “I’m fine, Bellamy. It’s just— I…” She takes a breath, watches his gaze widen. _Jesus Christ, he probably thinks he got her pregnant or something._ “… I’m the new lead singer of _The Delinquents…_ And all of my fellow band members seem to collectively hate you.”

Blinking in surprise, it takes Bellamy a few seconds to understand everything. When he has, however, he huffs. “They think I stole their tunes, right? Good old Reyes. She has no idea how much I despised her douche of an ex-boyfriend, and would never buy anything he offered to me _ever…_ Yeah, I’m that petty.”

“You know Raven? She and Finn used to date?”

“Yes. They were pretty serious until he cheated on her. It shouldn’t have surprised anyone, because the dude’s like ninety-nine percent hair, and Raven’s way too good for him anyway.”

Clarke acts as if she doesn’t feel a sting of jealousy when he says that, but fails to keep it up when she asks, “… You and Raven?” 

At the question, she thinks she sees the shadow of a smile cross Bellamy’s face, and she doesn’t know how to feel about it. 

Then he reveals, “I served as a rebound, I’m afraid, but the sex was bad. We agreed on that. She obviously wasn’t over Finn, and I didn’t have feelings for her, so… I mean, she’s cool and all, but then this whole thing happened, and she thinks Finn sold those songs to me, which is why we haven’t talked in awhile… Anyway, I _didn’t_ buy the songs, Clarke. Writing is the best part of the process. Why on Earth would I deprive myself of it?”

For some reason she can’t explain, Clarke hugs him.

Although it takes him by surprise, Bellamy wraps his arms around her. “We’re okay?”

Grinning, she pulls back, trying to ignore the heat she senses rush to her cheeks. “As long as you don’t think _we_ had bad sex.”

He chuckles, then he leans down to kiss her so chastely that she barely registers it. “Come on, Princess. You know we had great sex… But I want more than that. Well, I wanna get to know you at least.”

There are a lot of things for her to process in that sentence:

 

  1. Bellamy also thinks they had great sex
  2. And he _also_ wants more than that
  3. _Does that mean… Actual dates?_ She hasn’t been on one in a long-ass time.
  4. He calls her ‘Princess’, and she surprisingly doesn’t hate it.



 

“I want to get to know you, too,” Clarke replies, taking his hand. “… But if we’re gonna date, I’m afraid we have to keep it a secret.”

“I already figured. Your band members won’t believe the truth anyway.” 

From what she witnessed last Monday, Bellamy’s right, as _The Delinquents_ know how to hold a grudge, even if it’s barely founded — and they clearly expect her to hold one, too. Here’s the thing, though: _Clarke never liked taking orders._ She wants to figure things out for herself.

 

* * *

 

_August 2017_

 

Shockingly, the secret dating thing is not as difficult as it initially seemed once they get used to it. Within a week, Bellamy has memorized when she’s in the studio, so he doesn’t call or text when she’s working — They go to places that they don’t think any of her band members visits, like a small Thai restaurant in downtown Brooklyn and art museums. For the most part, however, they enjoy having their dates at home. 

They cook dinner together (Bellamy does most of the work, and Clarke simply serves as a distraction, stealing kisses from her place at the countertop) — And Clarke, wearing nothing but his loose button-up and lacey panties, dances around his apartment to the sound of rock music while he’s shirtless on the couch, watching her.

Ironically, the first real complication happens as they’re having sex for the first time since their one night stand, because Raven _calls_ her.

Placing her phone to her ear, Clarke quickly puts a hand over Bellamy’s mouth. 

“Reyes, what’s up?” Unfortunately, she fails horribly at not sounding awkward, but when Raven replies, it doesn’t sound like she’s picked up on it yet.

“I was wondering if you sent me those Mp3-files yesterday? I can’t see them in my inbox.” 

But just as she’s about to answer, Clarke feels the pad of Bellamy’s thumb against her clit, and it nearly causes her to whimper. Glaring at him, she gathers herself to manage a response. “I did send them… Have you checked under ‘unwanted’?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then—“ When Bellamy starts sucking kisses onto her throat, the rest of the sentence that Clarke wanted to form disappears, and she realizes that her head can’t be two places at once. Taking her phone from her ear, she kisses his jawline — a way of saying ‘sorry’.

“Are you okay, Clarke? You seem a bit… Preoccupied.” 

“I’m fine, Raven. It’s just not a good time right now. Can I call you back later?”

As soon as the call has ended, Clarke throws her phone away and looks at Bellamy. “You call _me_ a distraction? For fuck’s sake, Bellamy.”

Cocking his eyebrows in response, he simply grins a little and thrusts again, pulling a strangled moan from her throat. “I’m sorry, but we’re having sex, and you don’t get to work while I’m fucking you — _That’s_ where I draw the line.”

Albeit affectionately, she rolls her eyes at him, grabbing his broad shoulders. “Then fuck me, for crying out loud.”

For one thing, Clarke really feels like a rock star when she’s in bed with Bellamy, pulling at his hair and inhaling the scent of his aftershave as it blends with that of sweat drops on his back. This is the closest she has ever come to the wild vision she had of New York before moving here: _sex — mind-blowing sex_ with a man that she’s supposed to despise.

But he’s gentle, entertaining and intelligent, which makes it impossible. 

Afterwards, they’re wrapped in the sheets next to each other, discovering ink that they surprisingly haven’t paid attention to before. 

“The roses by the back of your shoulder, do they have any significance?” Bellamy asks, running his fingertip along the ink petals. 

“My dad once told me that I reminded him of a rose, because while I appear soft, I can burn apartments down if you set me on fire,” once she’s said that, she tells him more about her close relationship with her dad; their shared love of art. Then she asks him about a tattoo that he has, a word written underneath his collarbone ‘ _στοργή’_

“It means ‘storge’ in ancient Greek. It’s described as the natural love of family.”

When he tells her about growing up, having to raise his little sister and support his single mother, Clarke understands why he’d want that word on his body permanently; it’s embedded in his soul, too.

He also his a transparent map of the Earth between his shoulder blades, but Clarke doesn’t have to ask him about that one now… 

 _How can anyone hate this man?_

Oh wait, it’s because they haven’t taken the time to actually get to know his story.

 

* * *

 

She goes to work during the next week only to find everyone collectively losing their shit over the fact that _Bellamy has posted a sneak peek of a song to Twitter._ Yesterday, everyone was over the moon because they got a great paycheck for playing live at a local bar. Now, they’ve jumped right back to the ‘Bellamy Blake is the worst’ mood, and Clarke has a strong urge to bang her head against the wall.

They show her the black and white video of Bellamy in the studio with his acoustic guitar.

“It’s a slow melody… Definitely something Finn would write,” comments Jasper before emptying his can of Pepsi. Still, Clarke isn’t paying attention to anything except Bellamy’s serious facial expression as he begins to sing.

 

“2 a.m. is our time of day,

I breathe you in, the dead of night.

Suddenly, I see a point in staying up.”

 

“Oh, the stars they don’t compare,

to the perfect insomnia of you and I.

They ask, ‘ _what kept you up all night?’_

I say, ‘ _My babe in the sheets,_

_She’s a princess in the streets.’”_

Clarke’s heart skips so many beats that she actually tears up. Hopefully, no one’s looking at her, and they aren’t because they’re too busy talking about the odds of this being _their_ song that _Finn_ wrote about _Raven_ before they broke up. 

The wrongness of everything they’re discussing transforms Clarke into a volcano that’s on edge of erupting. “Shut up! Finn didn’t write this.” 

Now, everyone’s gaping at her, and she’s shaking, overwhelmed by the song and the realization that she can’t do anything to prove that it’s about _her —_ At least, not without revealing their relationship. Blinking away the remaining tears in her eyes, she tries to save herself. “… I mean, why would he only post this today if he’s had the songs ready for production for months? It makes no sense.”

Before anyone can reply, she adds, “Anyway, I’m going for a coffee run.”

_It’s the only way to make sure that no one will follow her._

 

As soon as she’s left the building, Clarke calls Bellamy, and he’s delighted yet surprised to hear from her during work hours.

“I just heard the sneak peek you posted.” 

There’s a lengthy pause at the other end, and she’s certain it’s because he’s flustered. Frankly, she can picture his cheeks flushing as he runs his hand through his hair before replying, “… You liked it?”

The nervousness in his voice makes her smile from ear to ear and causes her heart to swell. “Bellamy, I _loved it._ It’s really beautiful. You’re voice is amazing, by the way.” 

Once she’s said that, she can actually _hear_ that he’s grinning. “Thanks, Princess… If you come to my place after work, I’ll play it for you.”

“All of it?” 

“Count on it, Babe.” 

Afterwards, she’s so wonderfully dumbstruck that she almost gets Raven’s Starbucks order wrong, and although she can feel the massive grin on her face that probably makes her look like a _fool in love_ , she really doesn’t care. 

 _Wait… Shit, that’s an amazing song title!_  

On her way back to the studio, Clarke’s more preoccupied than ever, as she’s making up lyrics in her mind. At the second she’s stepped inside, Harper notices the look on her face.

“Someone, give her a fucking pen and some paper damn it, she’s in _the zone_!” 

Well, her afternoon certainly took a turn: While everyone else is busy mixing tracks for the new album, Clarke’s writing the song down on a napkin, because they’d run out of paper.

 

_Oh, you are the sun_

_Shining all over me_

_Making me look like a fool in love_

_On a cloudy day…_  

 

When she enters his apartment that evening, Clarke realizes that Bellamy has gone all out: placed the most beautiful bouquet of fuchsia _roses_ on her side of the bed, and lit candles everywhere, but there’s no sign of him. A couple of weeks ago, something like this would’ve surprised her a lot, but Bellamy has managed to prove that he’s a giant dork, especially when it comes to taking care of other people. 

“Hello Gorgeous.”

His warm voice reveals his presence, and Clarke is met by the soft smile in his eyes as she’s turned around. Wasting no time, she walks to him and kisses him passionately. “Thank you so much,” she whispers into the crook of his neck before pulling away a little. “I brought Chinese takeout.”

“This is gonna be one awesome night, I’m telling you.” 

He’s right. They ate their takeout dinner while Clarke tells him about the new album, the last song that she’s recording at the end of the month. Later, they cuddle on the couch, stalling time for a bit, but it also causes her to realize that she’d do anything just to be with him in non-secretive setting: She wants to bring him to music festivals, concerts, to coffee shops packed with people — she wants to change her relationship status on Facebook, be free of worry when she has to text him at work.

 _She wants her friends to know what kind of guy he actually is,_ so she doesn’t have to hide him.

At precisely 2 a.m. Bellamy pauses the movie they’re watching on Netflix, finds his guitar. “I promised, remember?” Blinking, he sits down on the floor in front of her and starts to sing in his unique, slightly hoarse voice.

 

“2 a.m. is our time of day,

I breathe you in, the dead of night.

Suddenly, I see a point in staying up.”

 

Oh, the stars they don’t compare,

to the perfect insomnia of you and I.

They ask, ‘ _what kept you up all night?’_

I say, ‘ _My babe in the sheets,_

_She’s a princess in the streets.’_

2 a.m. makes me think of you

Coffee on a Sunday

Breakfast in bed

You are worth breaking patterns for.

 

Oh, the stars they don’t compare,

to the perfect insomnia of you and I.

They ask, ‘ _what kept you up all night?’_

I say, ‘ _My babe in the sheets,_

_She’s a princess in the streets.'_

People tell me to get some sleep

I tell them: ‘ _I’m hooked_

_And there’s nothing I can do_

_She’s all over me_

_And we rule the darkest hours’_ …”

 

* * *

 

 

_October 2017_

 

After making some final adjustments to the lyrics, Bellamy posts the song to YouTube and Spotify, they don’t expect that it will receive much attention... As it turns out, however, it goes _viral._  

Clarke finds out about it in the studio while she’s playing Scrabble with Raven, and Jasper suddenly chokes on his coffee, nearly sputtering it across the screen of his brand new Iphone. Once he’s able to breathe properly again, he turns around, wide-eyed to tell them that Bellamy Blake’s song ‘ _Insomnia’_ has hit 800.000 views in 24 hours. 

“How’s that possible?” 

“I must admit,” Harper starts, smiling a little. “It’s a pretty good song.”

At that, Clarke can feel her heart fluttering triumphantly in her chest. This comment — and the fact that no one appears to disagree with it — makes her hopeful that their misguided opinion of Bellamy will change.

Another awesome thing is that _‘Fool in Love’_ — the song that she wrote about Bellamy — received loud applause when they played at a local bar yesterday. A young girl had even come up to them after the performance asked what had inspired them to write the song. Obviously, Clarke had been forced to professionally dodge the question while trying not to blush. 

Today, Clarke’s feeling more courageous somehow, which is why she peers over Jasper’s shoulder to look at the video and says — as if she’s _never_ noticed it before, “Objectively speaking, he’s pretty hot.” 

_… And kind, intelligent and talented…_

“Not gonna deny that,” Raven says, although she cocks her eyebrows as if she really wished she could. 

“Bet he’ll get lots of recognition now.” 

Well, you don’t have to be a scientist in order to predict that. It makes Clarke smile a little to herself, as she senses warmth rise in her chest. _She’s so proud of him,_ and he deserves every bit of recognition that the song will give him — the fact that he wrote it about _their relationship_ just makes it even better.

 

* * *

 

A week later, the views on the YouTube video still keep coming at an unbelievable pace, and that’s probably why Bellamy gets a call on a Saturday morning. Lifting her head off his chest in curiosity, Clarke watches his facial expression change at least three times: From confusion to surprise to _excitement._

“Of course! I’d be delighted. Thank you.”

When he puts his phone down, it takes him a full minute to form the words. “I just got a call from the local radio station. They want to me to answer some questions about the song and perform it live on air.”  

At that, Clarke’s smile widens to a grin matching the one on his face. “When?” 

“In a couple of hours…” He says, placing a kiss to the top of her head before continuing tentatively, “Do you wanna come with me?”

Although she knows it’s very risky, she wants nothing more than to support him, and the best way to do that is simply being there for him. Hopefully, the radio hosts will choose to ignore her presence…

 

They do — _for a while_ — as Bellamy answers their questions about how it felt to be a relatively unknown artist and suddenly have a song go viral on the internet. Then the interview starts to take a turn when one of the hosts makes a discreet comment about _inspiration_ while looking at her curiously, as if she’s a journalist about to discover the juiciest gossip imaginable.

“I can’t help but notice that you brought someone with you today, Bellamy.”

At that, Bellamy looks taken aback, and runs his hand through his hair — _he can probably tell where this is going, too._ “I did,” he admits reluctantly before quickly searching for reassurance by looking at Clarke.

Meeting his gaze, she isn’t exactly sure why she mouths ‘it’s okay’, but she does. Maybe, the truth just wants to come out — maybe, she doesn’t want to be the reason why his first big interview is spoiled. It doesn’t matter. 

“I brought my girlfriend.”

Surprisingly, it feels as if a giant burden is lifted off her shoulders at the moment he utters those words — and judging by the way he smiles at her — Bellamy feels it, too. Afterwards, one of the hosts gestures for her to move closer, but she shakes her head. _This is Bellamy’s moment._

“She’s the one who inspired the song?”

“That’s correct.” 

Following that, Bellamy finally performs the song, and he absolutely _kills_ it, earning two new fans in the process if the hosts’ enthusiastic clapping is anything to go by. Once he’s put the guitar down, Clarke’s heart is roaring with happiness for him, and she has to embrace him. Pulling back slightly, Bellamy beams at her, and the passion that shines through his facial features is ten times brighter than the sun outside.

When he kisses her, Clarke’s is blissfully oblivious to the fact that the two hosts are watching, that they share the moment through the microphone to the entire population of Brooklyn.

“We got a happy couple in here, Ted.” 

“You definitely do,” the words fly out of Clarke’s mouth without permission, and the only thing she can do to calm herself is hope that no one recognized her voice. Then — a minute later — she realizes something important: she doesn’t really need to calm herself, because there’s no reason to freak out.

Bellamy’s her boyfriend, and she’s fucking proud of him. She wants _everyone_ to know that.

In the end, that’s why she says, “My name’s Clarke Griffin, by the way,” she looks at Bellamy, who’s smiling through utter surprise. Turning, she smiles at the hosts. “Bellamy works so hard on these songs, and it’s so wonderful that it’s being recognized a little. He’s amazing and I’m so happy for him.”

“We are, too. Aren’t we, Ted?”

“Oh yes. Once again, congratulations on the success!” 

 

When they’re driving back to his apartment later, the road of happiness in front of them seems endless. Rolling the window down, Clarke lets the sun in and looks at Bellamy next to her, at how his fingers drum on the steering wheel. “I wrote a song about you too, you know?” She admits, catching his attention. 

Sending her a lopsided grin, Bellamy suggests something that she doesn’t know why they hadn’t thought of before. “Maybe we should write one _together._ Do a collaboration. I mean, now that our relationship has been broadcast on live radio.”

She sticks her tongue out at his sassiness, but has never loved an idea of his more — and _that’s_ saying something.

Soon, her excitement is brought to a stall by the intense buzzing of her phone in the pocket of her jeans, but it’s not the sound of an incoming call — it’s that of countless Twitter notifications clogging her screen one by one.

“Oh my god,” she mutters, scrolling through them. 

“What?” 

“We’re _trending._ ” 

At once, Bellamy’s brow furrows and once he realizes that she’s serious, he has to pull the car over. Wide-eyed in disbelief, he leans closer to peer over her shoulder. Apparently, it took no more than ten minutes for those radio hosts to Google her name and figure out that she’s the newest member of _The Delinquents._

 _Good morning, Brooklyn! Today we had a musical couple on the rise in our studio @cgriffin and @bellblakemusic #Bellarke #Insomnia_

What the actual fuck?

It doesn’t help that the fans of Bellamy’s song are freaking out and retweeting it like there’s no tomorrow:

 _@annabelllxoxo:_ OH MY GOD! PLZ COLLAB # _Bellarke_

@ _wannababe12: #Bellarke @sophiaperez6_ Guess he’s taken. Aw, that sucks. 

 _@davidlovesboooze:_ _Damn @cgriffin_ You’re hot!

Bellamy huffs at the last one, but Clarke can tell that he’s annoyed, so he doesn’t need to admit it. Still, he does, running a hand across his face. “I fucking hate the internet. I should’ve told those idiots in the studio that this getting out could jeopardize your career.”

Placing a hand on his forearm in comfort, Clarke attempts to reassure him. “If that’s the case, Bellamy, I jeopardized my own career. The hosts are just doing their job –– trying to get publicity to bring in money for the radio station.” 

Despite that he’s still frowning, he murmurs, “I know.” 

 

It was obvious from the silence of the rest of the car ride that Twitter has managed to put an end to their good mood. Before they noticed everything, Clarke had been convinced that they were going to have sex for the rest of the afternoon, write the song as the stars came out — Now, all that Bellamy wants to do is stare blankly into the walls while frowning around his beer bottle.

This is wrong for a number of reasons:

 

  * Bellamy doesn’t even drink beer. He thinks it tastes like floor.
  * Once he has the opportunity to work, he does, being a somewhat restless man who doesn’t like to sit around and do nothing.
  * … And he never turns down an opportunity of having sex with her, either. Especially not after an overwhelming day.



Once she’s been a witness to his odd behavior for an hour, Clarke decides to put her foot down. Glaring slightly — at the bottle, not him — she takes it from his grasp and places it on the coffee table.

Although he frowns at her, he says nothing for a while. When he does speak, though, he says something she never thought he would. “I need a cigarette.” 

“No, you don’t. You don’t smoke… What’s going on?”

The question makes tears fill his dark brown eyes, which is something she can hardly bear to look at. Still, she knows that she has to if she wants to comfort him. Determined, crosses her legs over his, straddling him and takes his face between her hands, hoping that he’ll find them warm.

“I don’t want our relationship to be… A topic of the public forum. You know, I used to think that all I wanted was success, that was why I kept working, but I was running out of ideas. My writer’s block was more stubborn than ever, and then I met _you._ And it threw me for a loop, Clarke, because suddenly you were everything that I’d ever wanted. I didn’t need anything else. I don’t.”

Feeling her heart start to melt in her chest, Clarke rests her forehead against his, lets her fingertips explore the constellations of freckles across his cheeks. “I love you.”

With that confession, she places her hand over his heart before he can form any words in response. “But you deserve to be recognized for the amazing work you do. As do I, and every other artist on the planet. At least we have each other. We’ll deal with it _together,_ okay?”

She has barely finished the sentence before Bellamy’s surged forward to catch her lips with his own in a passionate kiss. Wrapping a few dark curls at the back of his head around her fingertip, Clarke sighs into his mouth, nearly missing that he breathes, “I love you, too,” just before. “I love you so much.” 

In the end, that night _is_ long and perfect. _Who knew that the best possible time to write songs is post love-making?_ The windows are open slightly, and Clarke senses the nice yet chilly touch of October wind against the skin of her back. Smiling softly, Bellamy presses a chaste kiss to her hair and writes down another word: the lyrics of this song is made of his block letters fading into her neat ones. _It’s a perfect representation of them…_

_You set my soul on fire_

_And I thank you as we dance_

_Beneath the starlit sky_

_We know we won’t burn out_

_Take my body_

_Take my heart_

_Hold it in yours_

_We pray this song will last forever_

_Hope we don’t screw it up_

_Getting to the end is worth dying for_

_As long as you’re with me through it all_

_Take my body_

_Take my heart_

_Hold it in yours_

_Don’t you dare let go!_

_You set my mind at ease_

_And I thank you_

_I am grateful_

_I bleed the roses_

_You give to me_

* * *

 

The next day, Clarke brings Bellamy to the studio, and there are no more than two reasons for that.

 

  * She wants everyone in the band to understand that they owe him an apology
  * … And she really wants him to try Monty’s homemade cookies.



 

Besides, the shitload of tweets mentioning their relationship over the last twenty-four hours has probably managed to reveal the secret anyway… _Who cares?_ Right now, they definitely don’t, and no one else should either.

And to their great surprise, it turns out that the other members don’t either. Not really, at least.

Having entered the studio, Clarke clears her throat to catch everyone’s attention. Next to her, Bellamy, who’s smiling a little nervously, holds the container of Starbucks orders out. “This is a peace offering.”

Raven’s the first person to step forward, sending them both a smile. “I think we’re the ones who should have brought a peace offering… I think it’s safe to say that we’re all sorry.” When she says the last part, everyone behind her nods in agreement. 

“It’s the worst crime ever to stand between true love,” Jasper nearly cries. “It’s not okay that you felt like you had to keep it a secret from us for… Sorry, how long have you been together exactly?”

Grinning, Clarke beams at Bellamy, squeezing his hand. “Since the end of July… Remember the hookup that I mentioned? Well… That was—” 

“ _Me_. It was me.”

At that, even Monroe’s eyes widen, causing Bellamy and Clarke to chuckle in unison. Once that’s over, however, Bellamy’s facial expression becomes more serious, his brow furrowing a little. “Just so you know, guys. I would never buy anything from Finn Collins. I’d never buy anything written by another artist. It’s—“

“It’s my fault,” Raven admits, looking at him apologetically, and the admission clearly surprises him. “I guess I needed someone to be angry at after Finn left the band, and you were an easy target because of the songs. I’m sorry about that.” 

When she lowers her head a little, he places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Relax, Reyes. We’re cool, all right? As long as you let me date your lead singer.”

“Date? Blake, I’ll let you _marry_ her.”

Clarke immediately senses heat rush to her cheeks. “Well, anything can happen. I’m just glad we don’t have to hide anything anymore.”

That’s the way it should be.

 

* * *

 

_Epilogue — October 2019 (Two year later)_

 

While reading through his Twitter feed, Bellamy nearly spits out his coffee, causing Clarke to raise her eyebrows. A smile pulls at the corner of her lips as she asks, “What are they writing this time?”

Lately, there have been countless rumors about new album releases, concerts and collaborations circling around on the lovely Internet. As _The Delinquents’_ third record shot to the top of the charts last year while Bellamy’s success started to show in the bank account, they’d been telling themselves to expect things like this. Somehow, it manages to surprise them at times, and judging by the look on Bellamy’s face, now is one of them.

“That you’re pregnant with my child.”

“Jesus Christ...” 

He swallows the coffee, staring at her. “Are you?”

Grinning, she shakes her head vigorously. Of course, this would be an amazing opportunity to prank him, but there’s no need to worry him right now when the tour’s coming up. It’s no secret that they want kids eventually — in fact, they’ve been talking about it more lately — but they’re not trying to have any and won’t be for a while. Nevertheless, Clarke notices relief seep into his facial expression.

“Thank God. I would not have been able to focus on that tour to save my life if you were.” 

After watering the last plant in the house, Clarke walks to him and takes a seat on his lap. “That reminds me… I read an article last week about whether you had proposed to me.”

“Ah-ha, did they get it right?” 

“Nope.” 

Smiling, Clarke admires the beautiful ring on her left hand: A single round diamond surrounded by seven smaller, dark blue sapphires. Looking at it, too, Bellamy places a kiss to her hand, and she nuzzles his neck in return.

“The tabloids never get anything right.”

But their friends do. On the night that Bellamy proposed to her, all of her band members kept sending her knowing looks without actually revealing anything, and although she’d been suspicious because of it, Clarke would’ve never imagined that Bellamy would actually ask her. 

 _People are full of surprises…_ As her heart swells, Clarke looks at him. He has placed his hands on her stomach… _That’s what makes the future exciting._

 


End file.
